One of the remarkable things about my relationship with Karen is that I can quantify to the day, if not to within an hour, the amount of time we had together. This is, as with so many other aspects of our relationship, both remarkable and painful.
After more than eighteen years since we graduated from Packer, we met again - and, in many ways, for the first time - on September 27, 2008. It was 415 days later, on November 16, 2008, that our time together came to a sudden and tragic conclusion. It was only 415 days, or one year, one month, and nineteen days, that we had with each other. (Because I remember the approximate time that we met, 8:30 PM, and that she collapsed, 3:30 PM, it is possible to estimate that we were together for 9979 hours.) This is a stunningly brief time to have been together, especially when one considers how much we did in that time. It would not be hyperbole to say that we lived a lifetime in those 415 days.
The reason I am mentioning this now is that today represents a strange milestone: today, January 5, 2010, marks 415 days since Karen died. What this means is that I have now been without Karen for longer than the time we had together and every day hence will tilt the scale of time further. How can this be? Could our time together truly have been so short that, in what feels like a blink of the eyes, I am now beyond the time we were a couple? It is difficult to contemplate and wrap my head around this.
Time is indeed an odd thing. On the one hand the past 415 days seem to have flown by in the blink of an eye. When I think about that tragic and horrible moment, as I invariably do so many times a day, I feel like it just happened. That the details and my feelings are as clear as the computer screen I'm looking at now. Other times, however, the time Karen and I shared together feels like a lifetime and a millions years ago. Almost imperceptible and existing as an ethereal memory which I struggle to recapture. How can it be that these seemingly conflicting realities exist contemporaneously with each other? I suppose that is just one more facet of the new world, and life, in which I exist.
The marking of this day has greater significance than others that have come recently. Unlike anniversaries or birthdays, which will repeat for years onward, this is a singular moment that I will face. This marks a boundary that I will never cross again, and of course from which I can never cross back. This does not diminish the importance of things like the first anniversary of her death or her uncelebrated birthdays, but today represents something else entirely than those dates.
In some ways, as this milestone is passed, I feel the icy grip of my grief relax slightly. Since her death, I have not shaved - the tradition in Judaism is that mourners do not shave for a specified amount, typically thirty days but it can be as long as one year depending on your beliefs - but now find myself a step closer to doing so in a way I could not even consider only a few weeks ago. Similarly, while I left so much of our apartment the way it was on the morning of November 16, 2008, I am beginning to feel the moment for me to change that may be approaching. I know it will be a difficult and long process, but whereas I couldn't even contemplate any of it before now I can.
While these are subtle shifts and I still have a long, long way to go with so many things in my life, they are things that I could not have even imagined only a few short months ago. I don't know when I will actually undertake these changes, but that I can even contemplate making them is, for me, an enormous step in my grieving process.
So now as I prepare to count day number 416, and onward, I feel myself starting to look forward a little more each day. Of course I will never, and can never, stop looking back at what was as well.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Tears
I just watched the end of The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King and was struck by one of the final lines in the movie. As Frodo announced to his friends that he was leaving Middle Earth, Gandolf says: "I will not say: 'do not weep', for not all tears are an evil." This led me to thinking about the power and effect of tears.
I have shed so many tears of sorrow over the past months, but while many of those tears have come from the pain of my loss, many of those same tears have sustained my memories of Karen. Yet while tears may nourish the tree of memory, what happens when the tears no longer come or come less frequently? What happens to the memories? They don't go away. They don't wither. They remain. Perhaps not as vibrant as they once were, but remain they do. Forever. Like the rising of the sun or the movement of the tide, an ever-present part of life.
So it is as time passes by. That while things that were once as clear in my mind may still remain, they are no longer exist with such lucidity. Memories, like her smell, the sound of her voice, and the feeling of her skin are forever in my mind and heart, yet just a little less vivid than they were the day before. How I wish I could freeze in time every memory like it once was, but I know that is as impossible as it is to bring her back to me.
Hence, I cling to the pieces of her I have left. Those that are tangible for all to see and those that exist only where my mind's eye can view them. It is not enough, but it is all I have. She was a life force and a source of life. She brought me indescribable joy, happiness, and pleasure. And while no longer physically here, and drifting gently in the recesses of my life, she remains a part of me as she does for all those who knew her and so many who are only now discovering her in death.
How I wish everything were otherwise; that our expectations and dreams were fulfilled as planned. But that was not to be. Instead my life has become something else: a tribute to her and a passion to live not just for me but for her memory, regardless of its intensity.
To simply say I miss her would be to imply she, and everything she was, is gone. That is not the case. For even as turbidity invades my memories of her, they remain all the same and forever will. Just as she does.
I have shed so many tears of sorrow over the past months, but while many of those tears have come from the pain of my loss, many of those same tears have sustained my memories of Karen. Yet while tears may nourish the tree of memory, what happens when the tears no longer come or come less frequently? What happens to the memories? They don't go away. They don't wither. They remain. Perhaps not as vibrant as they once were, but remain they do. Forever. Like the rising of the sun or the movement of the tide, an ever-present part of life.
So it is as time passes by. That while things that were once as clear in my mind may still remain, they are no longer exist with such lucidity. Memories, like her smell, the sound of her voice, and the feeling of her skin are forever in my mind and heart, yet just a little less vivid than they were the day before. How I wish I could freeze in time every memory like it once was, but I know that is as impossible as it is to bring her back to me.
Hence, I cling to the pieces of her I have left. Those that are tangible for all to see and those that exist only where my mind's eye can view them. It is not enough, but it is all I have. She was a life force and a source of life. She brought me indescribable joy, happiness, and pleasure. And while no longer physically here, and drifting gently in the recesses of my life, she remains a part of me as she does for all those who knew her and so many who are only now discovering her in death.
How I wish everything were otherwise; that our expectations and dreams were fulfilled as planned. But that was not to be. Instead my life has become something else: a tribute to her and a passion to live not just for me but for her memory, regardless of its intensity.
To simply say I miss her would be to imply she, and everything she was, is gone. That is not the case. For even as turbidity invades my memories of her, they remain all the same and forever will. Just as she does.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Second birthday without celebration
Time marches inexorably on. Today would have been Karen's 38th birthday, but rather than celebrating with her - and James - I spent the day, as I have for so many others, alone and with sadness. This is a difficult time of the year for anyone who has suffered a loss like mine, but with her birthday falling during a season of joy and happiness centered on families only serves to compound the pain and sense of loss.
So today I did the thing that I thought would comfort me most, I drove out to New Jersey to visit her grave. What I forgot to take into account, however, was that our region recently received the first significant (and then some) snow fall of the winter. Normally this wouldn't have made a difference but, as anyone who has been to the cemetery or read my postings about it knows, Karen and James do not have a headstone. Rather, their grave is marked with a bronze plaque in the ground. This has made my prior visits a bit more calming by not standing among the rows and rows of granite stones, but this trip it made it impossible to locate the grave. Even with a map and directions provided by the cemetery staff, I spent about an hour plodding around Section 14 and digging repeatedly into calf-deep snow. All with no success. Instead, I sat for some time on a small stone bench.
Instead of the comfort I thought would come from visiting the cemetery, I felt sadness and a sense of failure for not being able to locate the plaque and grave. I could appreciate it wasn't necessarily a rational feeling - failure, that is - because even with a precise knowledge of the cemetery section, with so much snow it would still be exceedingly difficult to find it. But it was no less rational for me to think like this than it is for me to feel (as I do sometimes) that I in some way failed in my duties and responsibilities as a husband for not protecting her, even though there was nothing I could have done. So there I sat. In the cold. Alone.
When I got back in my car to leave, the radio station was in the middle of a block of Beatles music. Two songs came on back to back (I think, for I was in a bit of a trance), from which I found some of the sought after comfort. They were "In My Life," from Rubber Soul, followed by "The End," which closes Abbey Road. Both have lyrics that resonated very strongly in me and which were only accentuated by where I was and what I had just gone through searching for Karen's grave. Every lyric of "In My Life" struck a chord with me (pardon the pun), but most significant was:
But of all these friends and lovers
there is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
And having the moment punctuated with "The End's" haunting and iconic words, And in the end / The love you take / Is equal to the love you make, nearly brought me to tears but with a slight smile on my face. Though these songs were written decades ago, I heard the words anew. We certainly gave and received equal amounts of love, but for far far to short of time.
So as this second birthday without celebration draws to a conclusion, and I look ahead to tackle tomorrow and the tomorrows to come, I smile knowing Karen is looking over me and that we truly had something special.
Happy Birthday Karen. In my life, I love you more.
So today I did the thing that I thought would comfort me most, I drove out to New Jersey to visit her grave. What I forgot to take into account, however, was that our region recently received the first significant (and then some) snow fall of the winter. Normally this wouldn't have made a difference but, as anyone who has been to the cemetery or read my postings about it knows, Karen and James do not have a headstone. Rather, their grave is marked with a bronze plaque in the ground. This has made my prior visits a bit more calming by not standing among the rows and rows of granite stones, but this trip it made it impossible to locate the grave. Even with a map and directions provided by the cemetery staff, I spent about an hour plodding around Section 14 and digging repeatedly into calf-deep snow. All with no success. Instead, I sat for some time on a small stone bench.
Instead of the comfort I thought would come from visiting the cemetery, I felt sadness and a sense of failure for not being able to locate the plaque and grave. I could appreciate it wasn't necessarily a rational feeling - failure, that is - because even with a precise knowledge of the cemetery section, with so much snow it would still be exceedingly difficult to find it. But it was no less rational for me to think like this than it is for me to feel (as I do sometimes) that I in some way failed in my duties and responsibilities as a husband for not protecting her, even though there was nothing I could have done. So there I sat. In the cold. Alone.
When I got back in my car to leave, the radio station was in the middle of a block of Beatles music. Two songs came on back to back (I think, for I was in a bit of a trance), from which I found some of the sought after comfort. They were "In My Life," from Rubber Soul, followed by "The End," which closes Abbey Road. Both have lyrics that resonated very strongly in me and which were only accentuated by where I was and what I had just gone through searching for Karen's grave. Every lyric of "In My Life" struck a chord with me (pardon the pun), but most significant was:
But of all these friends and lovers
there is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
And having the moment punctuated with "The End's" haunting and iconic words, And in the end / The love you take / Is equal to the love you make, nearly brought me to tears but with a slight smile on my face. Though these songs were written decades ago, I heard the words anew. We certainly gave and received equal amounts of love, but for far far to short of time.
So as this second birthday without celebration draws to a conclusion, and I look ahead to tackle tomorrow and the tomorrows to come, I smile knowing Karen is looking over me and that we truly had something special.
Happy Birthday Karen. In my life, I love you more.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Worldwide Candle Lighting 2009
A friend of mine recently emailed me to let me know that December 13 will be the 13th annual Worldwide Candle Lighting in memory of children who have died at any age and of any cause. The event is coordinated by The Compassionate Friends, an organization formed to help provide comfort and support to bereaved parents, siblings, grandparents, and other family members through the grieving process following the death of a child.
According to the press release, candles will be lit at 7 pm local time on Sunday, December 13, so that over the 24-hour period there will be a wave of light moving across the time zones. According to the organizer's site, no service is scheduled for Brooklyn (or anywhere in New York City) but I will be lighting two candles on my own - one in James' memory and another for all children who remain in their parents' hearts - and wanted to invite anyone else to join in the event from wherever you are.
According to the press release, candles will be lit at 7 pm local time on Sunday, December 13, so that over the 24-hour period there will be a wave of light moving across the time zones. According to the organizer's site, no service is scheduled for Brooklyn (or anywhere in New York City) but I will be lighting two candles on my own - one in James' memory and another for all children who remain in their parents' hearts - and wanted to invite anyone else to join in the event from wherever you are.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
What is there to be thankful for?
A year ago I wouldn't have been able to come up with a single answer to that question.
Last Thanksgiving I was still deeply in a state of shock. Living each day like a spelunker who'd lost his flashlight: terrified, confused, and groping in the darkness that surrounded me hoping without expectation to find a way back out into the light.
While the holidays, especially those that are family-centric, continue to be difficult on me, with the passage of some time I am able nonetheless to find somethings to give thanks for today.
I am thankful that Karen didn't suffer. Someone asked me once whether I believe in God, because they felt if I did it would be natural for me to be angry at God for what happened. Without going into too much detail of my personal beliefs, I said that I do believe in something more powerful than myself and beyond human comprehension. However, I do not believe in an omnipotent or omnipresent "being" watching over the world. Nor that God had any more to do with Karen's death than with Plaxio Burress catching Eli Manning's pass in the end zone with 0:35 left in Superbowl XLII.
If I were to think about God as such a shepherding entity, however, my feelings woudld be of thanks. Obviously this is not thanks for what happened, but thanks for HOW it happened. In the past year I have considered the thousands of ways things could have been worse. Karen could have suffered from a long and painful illness, deteriorating over a long period of time. She could have been "saved" at the hospital, only to exist as a shell of the person she was before. Because none of these things happened and Karen died without pain or suffering, I am thankful
There are also countless ways the actual events played out that would have made continuing in life for me infinitely hard, not to mention effected so many others more detrimentally. If it had happened one day later, I would have been at my office and she in front of her 3rd grade class. If it had happened one week early, we would have been in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains and it would have taken an ambulance upwards of an hour to arrive. Indeed had I just gotten up 30 seconds earlier to go to the bathroom, I would forever be tormented with a myriad of additional pains, regrets, and questions. Because I was there with her at the very last moment, I am thankful.
But more importantly, I am thankful that I shared my life with Karen, albeit for far too little time, and learned what true love is. I was married once before. When that ended, I felt lost and devoid of love. In fact I recall sitting with my brother one evening at a bar and saying to him that I didn't think I would find love in this life, let alone ever remarry. As I talked, I told him that I felt I would never find true companionship, that it wasn't worth even trying and risking more heartache, and that I was accepting that I would be alone. Karen changed all this. For as much as I might have given her at the end of her life, she gave me as much if not more. Through her I experienced unconditional love and learned what it means to find one's soul-mate. She restored my confidence, taught me to trust in others, and how to live life to the fullest. It is hard for me now to find the joy in my day to day, but I know that having had it once it does exist and I can hopefully find it again. Because of all this, which came from my time with Karen, I am thankful.
I've written about many things in the past year and have tried mostly to speak about myself and my own experiences. I've tried not to sound like I'm sermonizing or lecturing others on life. On this Thanksgiving, however, I hope you'll excuse a bit of that for a moment.
We live in a fast paced world in which so much is focused on things like jobs and commercialism. There is a constant effort to look to the next thing, whether that is the next promotion, the next model of car or television, or the next task that must be completed. Because of this, some of us don't appreciate what is right before our eyes and that - as trite as it sounds - the real pleasures are in the moments between things. Those unquantifiable, almost insignificant exchanges and experiences with our loved ones and friends. Those are the things I treasure from our time together. Sure I reminisce about our trip to St. Martin, our wedding, and honeymoon to Canada, but it is the everyday, almost mundane events that stick out so much - and which I miss the most.
So as with everyday, but especially on Thanksgiving when so many are surrounded by family and the stresses that can create, I hope you are able to find happiness and pleasure in having these moments together. That you do not take for granted the loved ones in your life, are able to look past moments of argument or discord, and find joy and contentment in life. I'll be the first to admit that this is a difficult task for me to do given all that I have lost. But if I can pass along one lesson from my experience it is this: I would trade everything for the chance to have Karen back and 'suffer' those things at which I once would have been annoyed - leaving a dirty dish on the counter when the dishwasher is right there, not bothering to replace the toilet paper, or even leaving the window open when it starts to rain - because, in the end, it is her doing all this.
Through Karen I have learned that life is truly too short and that we should be thankful for what we have. Not just once a year, but everyday. I am thankful she was in my life to teach me this lesson and help me to live to the fullest. I hope in some small way, through my own pain and suffering, I'm able to pass that lesson along to others.
Last Thanksgiving I was still deeply in a state of shock. Living each day like a spelunker who'd lost his flashlight: terrified, confused, and groping in the darkness that surrounded me hoping without expectation to find a way back out into the light.
While the holidays, especially those that are family-centric, continue to be difficult on me, with the passage of some time I am able nonetheless to find somethings to give thanks for today.
I am thankful that Karen didn't suffer. Someone asked me once whether I believe in God, because they felt if I did it would be natural for me to be angry at God for what happened. Without going into too much detail of my personal beliefs, I said that I do believe in something more powerful than myself and beyond human comprehension. However, I do not believe in an omnipotent or omnipresent "being" watching over the world. Nor that God had any more to do with Karen's death than with Plaxio Burress catching Eli Manning's pass in the end zone with 0:35 left in Superbowl XLII.
If I were to think about God as such a shepherding entity, however, my feelings woudld be of thanks. Obviously this is not thanks for what happened, but thanks for HOW it happened. In the past year I have considered the thousands of ways things could have been worse. Karen could have suffered from a long and painful illness, deteriorating over a long period of time. She could have been "saved" at the hospital, only to exist as a shell of the person she was before. Because none of these things happened and Karen died without pain or suffering, I am thankful
There are also countless ways the actual events played out that would have made continuing in life for me infinitely hard, not to mention effected so many others more detrimentally. If it had happened one day later, I would have been at my office and she in front of her 3rd grade class. If it had happened one week early, we would have been in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains and it would have taken an ambulance upwards of an hour to arrive. Indeed had I just gotten up 30 seconds earlier to go to the bathroom, I would forever be tormented with a myriad of additional pains, regrets, and questions. Because I was there with her at the very last moment, I am thankful.
But more importantly, I am thankful that I shared my life with Karen, albeit for far too little time, and learned what true love is. I was married once before. When that ended, I felt lost and devoid of love. In fact I recall sitting with my brother one evening at a bar and saying to him that I didn't think I would find love in this life, let alone ever remarry. As I talked, I told him that I felt I would never find true companionship, that it wasn't worth even trying and risking more heartache, and that I was accepting that I would be alone. Karen changed all this. For as much as I might have given her at the end of her life, she gave me as much if not more. Through her I experienced unconditional love and learned what it means to find one's soul-mate. She restored my confidence, taught me to trust in others, and how to live life to the fullest. It is hard for me now to find the joy in my day to day, but I know that having had it once it does exist and I can hopefully find it again. Because of all this, which came from my time with Karen, I am thankful.
I've written about many things in the past year and have tried mostly to speak about myself and my own experiences. I've tried not to sound like I'm sermonizing or lecturing others on life. On this Thanksgiving, however, I hope you'll excuse a bit of that for a moment.
We live in a fast paced world in which so much is focused on things like jobs and commercialism. There is a constant effort to look to the next thing, whether that is the next promotion, the next model of car or television, or the next task that must be completed. Because of this, some of us don't appreciate what is right before our eyes and that - as trite as it sounds - the real pleasures are in the moments between things. Those unquantifiable, almost insignificant exchanges and experiences with our loved ones and friends. Those are the things I treasure from our time together. Sure I reminisce about our trip to St. Martin, our wedding, and honeymoon to Canada, but it is the everyday, almost mundane events that stick out so much - and which I miss the most.
So as with everyday, but especially on Thanksgiving when so many are surrounded by family and the stresses that can create, I hope you are able to find happiness and pleasure in having these moments together. That you do not take for granted the loved ones in your life, are able to look past moments of argument or discord, and find joy and contentment in life. I'll be the first to admit that this is a difficult task for me to do given all that I have lost. But if I can pass along one lesson from my experience it is this: I would trade everything for the chance to have Karen back and 'suffer' those things at which I once would have been annoyed - leaving a dirty dish on the counter when the dishwasher is right there, not bothering to replace the toilet paper, or even leaving the window open when it starts to rain - because, in the end, it is her doing all this.
Through Karen I have learned that life is truly too short and that we should be thankful for what we have. Not just once a year, but everyday. I am thankful she was in my life to teach me this lesson and help me to live to the fullest. I hope in some small way, through my own pain and suffering, I'm able to pass that lesson along to others.
Monday, November 16, 2009
One year
Today marks one year since I loss my wife, Karen Rothman Fried, and son, James Alex Fried. Today I have no words of my own. Today I will let the same words by W.H. Auden that I used at her funeral last year speak my thoughts again....
* * *
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Funeral Blues
W. H. Auden
* * *
* * *
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message She is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Funeral Blues
W. H. Auden
* * *
Karen Rothman Fried
12/23/71 - 11/16/08
My love eternal.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
My birthday
Today is my thirty-eighth birthday. I feel, however, that I've aged so much more in the past year.
In years past, the days and weeks leading up to my birthday were often times of increased anxiety for me. Not because I was inherently sad or disappointed with turning another year older, but rather I would find myself "taking stock" (as I'm sure so many other people do) of where I was in my life, where I thought I would be, and where I felt myself going. During these years my sleep would be interrupted and I would regularly wake in the middle of the night to contemplate various aspects of my life, often (I'm sorry sad to say) with negative feelings. I had become, in some ways, accustomed to this annual occurrence and expected it.
That was until last year's birthday.
As my thirty-seventh birthday approached, I still woke up in the middle of the night. When I did, however, there was not a negative thought in my mind. Instead I looked over to the woman laying next to me and smiled...broadly. How could I not? Here was a girl I had been attracted to since high school and to whom I never imagined I could be married, let alone date. But married to her was only the start, she was to be the mother of my son and the person with whom I knew I would spend the rest of my life. Looking at her sleeping by side, as I did so many other nights, I couldn't help but consider myself the luckiest man alive. I was so happy and told Karen all of this. Her response? To hug me to her and kiss me deeply.
Last year my birthday was on a Saturday. As we did so many other days, we spent every minute of it together. First was an early brunch at Moutarde, a French bistro on Fifth Avenue, while one of our cats was being cared for at the veterinarian's office. Next we went to Broadway for a matinee of Speed the Plow and then walked over to Hell's Kitchen where we had a snack of Thai food followed by a visit to a baby store to test drive strollers. James had, in the past weeks, begun moving much more and I felt his kicks (or punches) often. Karen and I talked constantly about him and our excitement of becoming parents. After wandering around the neighborhood a little while longer, we headed to the rooftop bar at the Peninsula Hotel before finishing our evening with a fabulous dinner at Aquavit. We were all smiles, each of us feeling like we were on top of the world.
This feeling of happiness and absolute contentment on my birthday, a feeling I'd not had before, lasted a less then forty-eight hours. Joy replaced by pain. Hopes dashed. My future shattered in an instant before my eyes.
How do I celebrate my birthday this year? With tears in my eyes.
In years past, the days and weeks leading up to my birthday were often times of increased anxiety for me. Not because I was inherently sad or disappointed with turning another year older, but rather I would find myself "taking stock" (as I'm sure so many other people do) of where I was in my life, where I thought I would be, and where I felt myself going. During these years my sleep would be interrupted and I would regularly wake in the middle of the night to contemplate various aspects of my life, often (I'm sorry sad to say) with negative feelings. I had become, in some ways, accustomed to this annual occurrence and expected it.
That was until last year's birthday.
As my thirty-seventh birthday approached, I still woke up in the middle of the night. When I did, however, there was not a negative thought in my mind. Instead I looked over to the woman laying next to me and smiled...broadly. How could I not? Here was a girl I had been attracted to since high school and to whom I never imagined I could be married, let alone date. But married to her was only the start, she was to be the mother of my son and the person with whom I knew I would spend the rest of my life. Looking at her sleeping by side, as I did so many other nights, I couldn't help but consider myself the luckiest man alive. I was so happy and told Karen all of this. Her response? To hug me to her and kiss me deeply.
Last year my birthday was on a Saturday. As we did so many other days, we spent every minute of it together. First was an early brunch at Moutarde, a French bistro on Fifth Avenue, while one of our cats was being cared for at the veterinarian's office. Next we went to Broadway for a matinee of Speed the Plow and then walked over to Hell's Kitchen where we had a snack of Thai food followed by a visit to a baby store to test drive strollers. James had, in the past weeks, begun moving much more and I felt his kicks (or punches) often. Karen and I talked constantly about him and our excitement of becoming parents. After wandering around the neighborhood a little while longer, we headed to the rooftop bar at the Peninsula Hotel before finishing our evening with a fabulous dinner at Aquavit. We were all smiles, each of us feeling like we were on top of the world.
This feeling of happiness and absolute contentment on my birthday, a feeling I'd not had before, lasted a less then forty-eight hours. Joy replaced by pain. Hopes dashed. My future shattered in an instant before my eyes.
How do I celebrate my birthday this year? With tears in my eyes.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
18 Heshvan 5770
According to the Hebrew calendar, Karen died on the 18th day of the month of Heshvan in the year 5769. Because the Hebrew calendar is a lunisolar calendar, the dates between it and the Gregorian (or secular) calendar do not match up from year to year. Because of this, the first yahrtzeit of her death falls on today, November 5, 2009, which corresponds to the 18 Heshvan 5770. (Technically, since a day on the Hebrew calendar runs from sundown to sundown, the yahrtzeit began at sundown on the 4th and runs until sundown on the 5th.) As is Jewish custom, last night I said kaddish, lit a candle in her and James' memory, and began a one day fast. While the latter is a custom typically reserved for the yahrtzeit of a parent, just as I have not shaved during the past year - also a custom compulsory only following the passing of a parent - I felt keeping a fast was proper for me to observe the date. In addition, fasting itself is providing me a sense of connection, grounding and focusing me on this day when my mind is awash with so many thoughts and memories - both good and bad.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Is there such a thing as coincidence anymore?
I think not. And here's two reasons why...
A couple weeks ago I went up to Boston to visit relatives and some friends from law school. While I was there I made plans to meet two other friends who live in Philadelphia but were in town for a medical conference - they're both doctors. The three of us met at a small restaurant in the south end and were seated near the open kitchen. Just after we ordered I glanced up at someone being led through the dinning room to their table - for those of you who follow my Facebook updates this might sound familiar - and immediately recognized it was a friend of mine from high-school who I haven't seen in probably a dozen years. The truly crazy thing was that she doesn't live in Boston either and was only in town for a couple days as well. She was there with her boyfriend and his sister, and the waitress sat them right next to us. We spent the rest of the evening chatting and catching up on old times. It was amazing.
Even more amazing was that her boyfriend said that he owned a wine store in northern Virginia and invited me to visit after I mentioned what my current plans are and that I would be in the area for a wedding in a few weeks. That wedding was this past weekend and the three of us meet for dinner on Monday night. Not only was it a great chance to catch up even more with her and get to know him better, but a potential business opportunity came out of the dinner that I am seriously considering.
I would have emailed her to let say I was going to be in DC anyway, but since we ran into each other in Boston it made getting together a certainty. Had we not reconnected in that random way, who knows if we would have met for dinner and who knows whether the business opportunity would have presented itself as it did. Most likely not. Things just seemed to fall into place in an odd, but positive, way.
The second thing happened last night when I went to a Learning Annex seminar about opening a restaurant. There were about a dozen people in attendance and just before the lecture began a man sitting in front of me mentioned to the presenter that he already owned a place in Park Slope. I told him I live in Park Slope and asked what the name of his restaurant was. His reply was "Cafe Bogota." I felt the blood rush from my head at this. When he asked if I knew it I said yes, stammered something about how the food was very good, but that my experience there was bad and I would talk to him about it later. Not only was the class starting so I couldn't explain it to him further, but I didn't want to cast a pall over him for the next couple hours.
At the conclusion of the class I approached him and spoke with him further. I began to explain that I was at Cafe Bogota in mid-November of last year with Karen and that she collapsed there. Before I could say anything further, he knew immediately who I was and what had happened. His partner, who joined the conversation at this time, explained that he was working there that day and recounted some of his memories. They told me how stunned and saddened the entire staff had been by what happened, and that the waiter who served us (who returned to Brazil) kept saying over and over in a shocked voice that Karen had just asked him for a pen.
The three of us spoke for a little while longer. I said that for some time I have wanted to go to the restaurant and speak with people who were there that day but have not been able to walk past Cafe Bogota let alone go inside. The understood completely, offered me their business cards and asked that I get in touch with them so we could meet to speak further. As the emotions began to overwhelm me, I shook both their hands and promised that we would get together. I left, getting to the street as the reality of what just happened hit me and the memories of November 16 flooded back.
As I did in the months that followed her death, I walked through the city trying once again to make sense of things. How could it be that in a city of over nine million people and thousands of restaurants the owners of Cafe Bogota were two of about a dozen individuals who showed up for the lecture. I believe we were supposed to meet, but that we were supposed to meet away from where Karen died so that I didn't have to reenter that place.
Just like I was supposed to be in that restaurant in Boston for many reasons, so too was I supposed be in that lecture; not to learn about how to open a restaurant (although I did get some good pieces of advices) but to meet those two gentlemen.
I don't know how my plans will eventually work out, but things have been happening to me in very odd ways during these past eleven and a half months. I wonder what is next....
A couple weeks ago I went up to Boston to visit relatives and some friends from law school. While I was there I made plans to meet two other friends who live in Philadelphia but were in town for a medical conference - they're both doctors. The three of us met at a small restaurant in the south end and were seated near the open kitchen. Just after we ordered I glanced up at someone being led through the dinning room to their table - for those of you who follow my Facebook updates this might sound familiar - and immediately recognized it was a friend of mine from high-school who I haven't seen in probably a dozen years. The truly crazy thing was that she doesn't live in Boston either and was only in town for a couple days as well. She was there with her boyfriend and his sister, and the waitress sat them right next to us. We spent the rest of the evening chatting and catching up on old times. It was amazing.
Even more amazing was that her boyfriend said that he owned a wine store in northern Virginia and invited me to visit after I mentioned what my current plans are and that I would be in the area for a wedding in a few weeks. That wedding was this past weekend and the three of us meet for dinner on Monday night. Not only was it a great chance to catch up even more with her and get to know him better, but a potential business opportunity came out of the dinner that I am seriously considering.
I would have emailed her to let say I was going to be in DC anyway, but since we ran into each other in Boston it made getting together a certainty. Had we not reconnected in that random way, who knows if we would have met for dinner and who knows whether the business opportunity would have presented itself as it did. Most likely not. Things just seemed to fall into place in an odd, but positive, way.
The second thing happened last night when I went to a Learning Annex seminar about opening a restaurant. There were about a dozen people in attendance and just before the lecture began a man sitting in front of me mentioned to the presenter that he already owned a place in Park Slope. I told him I live in Park Slope and asked what the name of his restaurant was. His reply was "Cafe Bogota." I felt the blood rush from my head at this. When he asked if I knew it I said yes, stammered something about how the food was very good, but that my experience there was bad and I would talk to him about it later. Not only was the class starting so I couldn't explain it to him further, but I didn't want to cast a pall over him for the next couple hours.
At the conclusion of the class I approached him and spoke with him further. I began to explain that I was at Cafe Bogota in mid-November of last year with Karen and that she collapsed there. Before I could say anything further, he knew immediately who I was and what had happened. His partner, who joined the conversation at this time, explained that he was working there that day and recounted some of his memories. They told me how stunned and saddened the entire staff had been by what happened, and that the waiter who served us (who returned to Brazil) kept saying over and over in a shocked voice that Karen had just asked him for a pen.
The three of us spoke for a little while longer. I said that for some time I have wanted to go to the restaurant and speak with people who were there that day but have not been able to walk past Cafe Bogota let alone go inside. The understood completely, offered me their business cards and asked that I get in touch with them so we could meet to speak further. As the emotions began to overwhelm me, I shook both their hands and promised that we would get together. I left, getting to the street as the reality of what just happened hit me and the memories of November 16 flooded back.
As I did in the months that followed her death, I walked through the city trying once again to make sense of things. How could it be that in a city of over nine million people and thousands of restaurants the owners of Cafe Bogota were two of about a dozen individuals who showed up for the lecture. I believe we were supposed to meet, but that we were supposed to meet away from where Karen died so that I didn't have to reenter that place.
Just like I was supposed to be in that restaurant in Boston for many reasons, so too was I supposed be in that lecture; not to learn about how to open a restaurant (although I did get some good pieces of advices) but to meet those two gentlemen.
I don't know how my plans will eventually work out, but things have been happening to me in very odd ways during these past eleven and a half months. I wonder what is next....
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Next steps
As of October 2, I am no longer working as a lawyer. This was a decision that I've been contemplating for a long time and even discussed it with Karen quite a bit. In that pre-November 16 life I decided that leaving the job wasn't a prudent idea because with the arrival of James. Karen would not be working for some time and it would therefore have been incumbent on me to support all three of us. Nevertheless, Karen supported my idea of leaving the law to pursue other options at some point down the line.
After being away from work for several months following her death, I went back to work in March. It was the right decision for me at that for many reasons and I'm glad I did it. I really enjoyed many aspects of the job and made very good friends at the office. In addition, the support I received from my firm was remarkable and so important. But even as I was doing my best get my mind back into the work I realized after a few months that I was having difficulties putting my heart into it. Soon it became apparent to me that it was time for a change lest I continue doing what I was doing and allow the quality of my work deteriorate. Therefore I thought long and hard and decided that it would be best for me to leave the job.
So what now? That has been the number one question people have - understandably - had when I've told them of my decision.
Well, first off, I do not have another job waiting for me. This flies in the face of the conventional wisdom and also presents the obvious issue of how will I be paying rent and living expenses in the near future. I have some savings which will get me by for a few months, but I am already doing a little belt tightening in anticipation of not having a pay check coming in the near future.
What I am doing is pursuing an idea I've long had: to open a wine bar with a small menu of tapas-esque items some place in or near Park Slope. It is a long way to go before I will uncork my first bottle, but I have started taking courses at the French Culinary Institute on wine and plan to take a course in restaurant management when it is next offered in January of 2010. I have also started to speak with the many people I know who are in the industry and will be seeking any opportunities to gain knowledge and experience that will assist me.
I know how challenging this is, but have tremendous support from my friends and family, as well as the confidence to embark on this. In addition, because this is something Karen and I spoke about on several occasions, I know she is supporting me. All this said, it will take much more than just positive thinking to get to where I want to be. However, having been taught in the most dramatic and painful fashion that life truly is unpredictable and short, I have to seize this moment and do what it is my heart is telling me.
After being away from work for several months following her death, I went back to work in March. It was the right decision for me at that for many reasons and I'm glad I did it. I really enjoyed many aspects of the job and made very good friends at the office. In addition, the support I received from my firm was remarkable and so important. But even as I was doing my best get my mind back into the work I realized after a few months that I was having difficulties putting my heart into it. Soon it became apparent to me that it was time for a change lest I continue doing what I was doing and allow the quality of my work deteriorate. Therefore I thought long and hard and decided that it would be best for me to leave the job.
So what now? That has been the number one question people have - understandably - had when I've told them of my decision.
Well, first off, I do not have another job waiting for me. This flies in the face of the conventional wisdom and also presents the obvious issue of how will I be paying rent and living expenses in the near future. I have some savings which will get me by for a few months, but I am already doing a little belt tightening in anticipation of not having a pay check coming in the near future.
What I am doing is pursuing an idea I've long had: to open a wine bar with a small menu of tapas-esque items some place in or near Park Slope. It is a long way to go before I will uncork my first bottle, but I have started taking courses at the French Culinary Institute on wine and plan to take a course in restaurant management when it is next offered in January of 2010. I have also started to speak with the many people I know who are in the industry and will be seeking any opportunities to gain knowledge and experience that will assist me.
I know how challenging this is, but have tremendous support from my friends and family, as well as the confidence to embark on this. In addition, because this is something Karen and I spoke about on several occasions, I know she is supporting me. All this said, it will take much more than just positive thinking to get to where I want to be. However, having been taught in the most dramatic and painful fashion that life truly is unpredictable and short, I have to seize this moment and do what it is my heart is telling me.
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